Near Horizon
by Cantare
Summary: Soon she shared half the errant destination of his gaze, the near-invisible horizon. "This is war and the world's fate is at the end of its line. What I want doesn't matter."


**Near Horizon**

She breathed out against the meandering wind, tasting salt and a phantom of rain. The pull of the low, emptying tide was a drain on her strength, leaving her heart to channel its burden alone tonight. The moon was a pale sliver overhead, a half-closed eye adrift in mist.

She spied his thin silhouette on the sand from a windswept distance, curved angles of shoulders leaned forward, arms draped over knees. The dark film of the sea reached for him with indifference, advancing and receding in gentle routine. She stopped and watched him for the span of seven coats of water upon the beach, soft sand caving in a cocoon around her feet.

The line of his gaze traveled toward some point at once far off and inward. A familiar paradigm. Sand flowed from dry ankles as she moved to close the distance.

A nod was the only acknowledgement she received when she sat beside him, at his left. The soles of her feet met cold sand hardened by the spray of the sea, and she drew her knees up comfortably. Soon she shared half the errant destination of his gaze, the near-invisible horizon. The other half differed. She did not have to turn to see the scarred skin of his profile. The thinned eye was nearly hidden, a sliver away from disappearing. She wondered how much luck had led to its preservation, and how it had felt. A training accident. A consequence of pride and foolhardy youth. A duel. A failed assassination attempt. A thousand possibilities.

"You should be asleep," he said.

The possibilities faded between the shore and the horizon as her eyes readjusted to distance. "I'd like to be."

"The moon?"

"Partly."

"Is your room not comfortable enough?"

"It's fine."

He began to draw lines in the sand with two fingers, a journey erased and retraced a dozen times in the silence.

"I'd like to be alone." The words were soft but decided.

She was quiet for a while, not moving until the patterns slowed to a stop.

"So did I, when I found you outside my tent."

The ruined eye twitched and he glanced at her, a brief break in that steady line to the horizon.

"I'm not out on some mission or anything like that. It's late and I need to think."

The bluntness of his words no longer stemmed from lack of tact, but from the ease and weariness of familiarity. She nodded.

"Thinking about someone else's mission," she said, equally candid. She had guessed correctly, judging from the shift in his stance. He said nothing.

The ocean yawned and she welcomed the gentle wash of the waves near their feet, the cool spray on their skin.

"You know he doesn't have the heart to kill him."

His mouth tightened. "I've told him countless times that he has to."

"He doesn't always listen to his teachers."

"It's not a matter of listening. He has no choice."

She lay her cheek on her knees and watched him at an angle, tracing the rigid line of his jaw. He shook his head and she could sense the coiled frustration just beneath the surface.

"We have no choice. He has to understand that."

"He doesn't. The only choice can still be a wrong choice in his eyes."

"The Fire Lord made his choice a long time ago. It's clear what he deserves."

"Aang knows that. He just believes in mercy."

He snorted. "Believes in it so much he'd cast justice to the wind."

"Actually, he thinks they're the same thing."

Sharp eyes, one narrower than the other, slid toward her with inerrant accuracy. "And you agree with him now?"

"No."

"You let your mother's murderer live. It was admirable, an act of mercy," he said slowly, testing her acceptance of the subject. At her lack of reaction, he continued. "But an act of justice would have been equally valid. You had a right to it, and Yon Rha accepted that completely when he begged you for mercy. In any case it doesn't matter. He's a weak old man, powerless to harm anyone. But the Fire Lord-"

"I know. I agree with you."

"Then why-" He stopped and let out a tightly bottled breath, anger now rising like a tide.

"I should have done it myself when I had the chance. The swords were in my hands; I would have, gladly, if I'd known the Avatar was—was like this."

The scar was a dark scorch across his skin. Spindle lines of unhealed skin deepened with his fury, and she thought of how cool it had felt under her palm once.

"What are you talking about?" she said.

"The Fire Lord. I confronted him before I left on the day of the eclipse. Committed full treason and told him the Avatar would finish him off. That it was his duty, not mine."

"That's—"

"Looks like I spoke too soon," he said harshly. "Maybe I'll have to do the job after all. Too bad I wasted my best chance already."

"Zuko, stop."

He closed his eyes, one hand raking through his hair. "This is why I wanted to be alone, Katara."

"If you were alone you would just keep lying to yourself."

His imbalanced gaze focused on her again with the sharpness of an accusation. "And how exactly would I do that?"

"Stop saying you want to kill your father. Or that you want Aang to kill him. It's the last thing you want."

She went on before she could discern whether the rigid silence bled of acceptance or anger.

"It's killing you inside, I know. He's a terrible man but he's still your father before he's the Fire Lord—"

"Katara."

She discerned the stillness belatedly and fell quiet.

"Fire Lord Ozai has to die, whether or not I want him to. It's a fact I've come to accept. This is war and the world's fate is at the end of its line. What I want doesn't matter."

"What do you want?"

He stared at her, perhaps wondering if she had heard him at all.

"Even if it doesn't matter, I want to know," she said. "Because right here, tonight, I'm not worried about the world's fate for once. I'm worried about you."

Somehow the distance was growing again, and she found it strange that only a few days ago he had essentially told her the same thing, relentless as the tide through words and long hours waiting outside her tent while she slept, determined to disbelieve him.

"I'm fine. Stop worrying," he said evenly, shifting his gaze to the horizon.

The rugged lines had smoothed out somewhat, dark skin relaxed around his eye. With patience she resisted a sigh and covered his hand with hers, nails combing the sand between his fingers.

"Three days from now, whatever happens, I'm coming with you."

He made to speak and paused, revising his words. "Thank you. But I'll be fine. You'll be needed elsewhere."

"Maybe," she conceded. "But that's where I want to be."

A longer pause this time. "Thank you."

His hand was warm under her palm and the sand cold and smooth. She turned to the ocean and the invisible line where it met the sky, letting scars and words of treason fade from her mind. The tides would rise again soon, heedless of the fiery dawn to come and the unanswered questions that could splinter the world over the backs of children. At the least she knew what mattered, and prayed it would be granted to him whether he wanted it or not.


End file.
